Death's A Beach

Happy Earth Day from Pripyat

Photo by Gerd Ludwig. Check out, The Long Shadow of Chernobyl

Though they go mad they shall be sane

Ceri Richards 'And Death Shall Have No Dominion'

And death shall have no dominion. 
Dead man naked they shall be one 
With the man in the wind and the west moon; 
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone, 
They shall have stars at elbow and foot; 
Though they go mad they shall be sane, 
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again; 
Though lovers be lost love shall not; 
And death shall have no dominion. 

And death shall have no dominion. 
Under the windings of the sea 
They lying long shall not die windily; 
Twisting on racks when sinews give way, 
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break; 
Faith in their hands shall snap in two, 
And the unicorn evils run them through; 
Split all ends up they shan't crack; 
And death shall have no dominion. 

And death shall have no dominion. 
No more may gulls cry at their ears 
Or waves break loud on the seashores; 
Where blew a flower may a flower no more 
Lift its head to the blows of the rain; 
Though they be mad and dead as nails, 
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies; 
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down, 
And death shall have no dominion.

-Dylan Thomas

3 8

Enlow Photo 

So I'm getting very close to the big 38. This is a crucial age for me, as it is a magical number in my family. Now, some people and rightly so, make fun of me for this, but making it to 38 without the old ticker exploding is quite uncommon with the males along my maternal line of descent. Back in 2009, I had more than a mild panic about this. You can read the details here or in Foulweather #3. Long story short, I got into the ring with death, not literally, but I wrestled the unavoidable beast and dodged his scyth... for now...  In hindsight, confronting my mortality and the subsequent depression I had to struggle out of was one of the most profound experiences of my life and what I regard as the true beginning of my adulthood. It is a journey, perhaps a healthy indivdual should undertake at twenty-one not thirty-three, but I'll blame Western culture for much of that. I feel many people continue to cruise through life, avoiding the big looming inevitability of all inevitabilities. It is all too easy to avoid familiarity, acceptance and eventual comfort with death in the presence of so many distractions, consumer pressure, career/ life expecations, mass media, social media, popular perceptions of youth, beauty, aging and so on. All I can really say, as with many other things in life, you have to put in the time and effort, to reap the rewards. Backward steps are possible of course, and I take them often but like my acupuncturist said now that she has 'opened the gates of hell,' and I walked through it, there's no going back to that state of panic, where I was once consumed by terror, paralyzed by hopelessness and meaninglessness. 

Anyway, I haven't made it to 38 yet. It is still a few weeks to go. So is this just another excuse to post photos of myself? 

I keep meaning to get back into meditation and Tai Chi to facilitate 'the journey' but there is simply too much skateboarding to be done. I'm slowly beginning to accept that skateboarding is going to have to be my meditation and Tai Chi and I have to say I think it is serving me well, even though it is more acceptable to drink beer while skateboarding. Getting older on my skateboard has been somewhat profound. It is teaching me some amazing lessons, in focus, when and what to let go of; how to celebrate and dive into the little stuff while shrugging off the big stuff and how to work towards perfect form. Before, I was an adult my approach was spastic and unrefined. I cared little for proper technique. I just wanted to get the job done and move on quickly. Now, I am an old man I appreciate working towards a proper form as if it was a  yoga pose of Tai Chi sequence. The proper deck check, the proper foot position and so on, while stilling the mind (hence the RnR Photo above). There is immense but calming satisfaction and joy in this pointless pursuit and I'm going to ride it out as long as I can for it not only connects me with 'everythingness' but because I might only have a few more sessions to go before the ticker goes 'boom.'

I must also acknowledge that I feel a little uncomfortable celebrating my life while my father-in-law is in reality far closer to death than myself, with likely mere months left on this plane of existence. At the same time, I know he appreciates it when other people have passions and pursue them with vigor. Bob was dealt a shitty hand and watching such a strong man, prematurely decay is heartbreaking but at the same time, as I mentioned a few weeks back, I feel like the dying open magical portals that the rest of us would do well to find the courage to look through. 

If anyone is still reading this tripe, I hope your journey is going well.

When Shall We Meet Again?

From Richard Harris' 'Death: A self-potrait' exhibit, currently showing at the Welcome Collection in London.  I hope I get to see this one day.

I meditated on death on the journey home

they told me it would help

it did indeed make me chuckle

as I blazed through traffic

could I go right now?

yes

but

would I be just as ok with a slow cancerous death?

I came home and popped the cap off a far too strong stout

and sat down in front of the writing machine

put on some sad music

dove into the symbols

I really should write I told myself

I’m not here to send a bloody message

this is no way to

send

a

message

the keys pissed me off

I misstruck them frequently in inebriation

then I glanced down at the desk

and I saw a fingernail

was it mine? I wondered

last week

putting on my socks

I noticed  how white one of my toe nails looked

so I picked at it

and then it fell apart.

I pulled it out

with little pain

it was soft and mushy, a malformed nail

maybe I have a horrible disease I thought.

how is my tolerance for pain?

but this nail was not one of mine

it was yours

you shed it

you are usually pretty good about clipping your nails in a sanitary manner

unlike me

it felt peculiar to hold a piece of you in this way

I rubbed it between my fingers

in between typing

and it broke apart

brittle

write a poem about me

you asked not so long ago

I don’t do that anymore

can’t

either I’m fixed or know too much

to write anymore

I put the same song on repeat

like the old days

to hold onto the distraction

milk it

milking the fucking symbols

wallowing in the disconnect

it is so crude and undignified

symbolic compensation

instead of looking for metaphor in your discarded fingernail

I should take you to the bedroom

and take every part of you between my fingers

even if everything is not OK

even if we are confronting the only truth

Death Zine

Now that we're all bummed out by the Swansea Love Story...

Photographer Walters Schels took a series of portraits of dying people, shortly before and after their deaths. It is pretty compelling stuff and I came across it via a new magazine called Death. Death Mag describes itself as a magazine for the enthusiast and the non-enthusiast alike," which is both hilarious and profound. Anyway, you can view it for free online but I hope to pick up a print copy soon.


This magazine comes at the perfect time for both you and I because I just learned we are both dying. Shit, I never thought it happen. I thought I could keep riding my skateboard forever but then I made an eight foot dive into concrete. With blood streaming out of my scalp and pouring out of my nose, I was just waiting to pass out and check out for good. Seriously though, despite my relatively tame skateboarding accident, I have indeed been contemplating death. For the last six months, as soon as I'm wake up and the back, knee and elbow pain remind me I'm still alive, I then remind myself that I am going to die. It could be today, maybe in a few years, maybe fifty years from now but it is going to happen. To me, to you and everyone we know. And I'll tell you what, it has been the best anti-depressant ever, as morbid as it might initially appear.


You have to go to some dark places to see the light. Death Magazine might be a good start.


I highly recommend "The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying" by Sogyal Rinpoche also.


Then you can read some crap I've written about death in Foulweather #3 and the upcoming issue of Kurangabaa.